Chapter X (3)

“There are now above a thousand converts from heathenism, formed into
various churches throughout the country. And I trust that the good
work will go on, until every vestige of idolatry shall be effaced, and
millennial glory shall bless the whole land. The thirteenth day of
this month finished a quarter of a century that I have spent in
Burmah; and on the eighth of next month, if I live, I shall complete
the fiftieth year of my life. And I see that mother, if living, will
enter on her eightieth year next December. May we all meet in heaven.”

Upon the completion of the fiftieth year of his life, and of his twenty-fifth year in Burmah, it is not strange that even his wiry physique should begin to give way beneath the strain. Disease fastened first upon his lungs, entailing loss of voice and intense pain. Allusions in his letters at this time indicate his declining health:

“ON PASSAGE FROM MAULMAIN TO CALCUTTA, _March_ 3, 1839.

“I had been subject to a cough several months, and some kind of
inflammation of the throat and lungs, which, for a time, almost
deprived me of the use of my voice; and lest the complaint should
become confirmed consumption, I was advised to try a voyage to sea....
_March 11._ For two days I have had a return of soreness, accompanied
with some cough. I fear that the atmosphere of this place, loaded with
dust and smoke, will bring on a relapse.

“My last informed you that I was on a passage to Calcutta for my
health, by the direction of a physician and the recommendation of the
brethren at the station. I derived great benefit from the voyage; and
my health continued generally to improve during my stay in Calcutta of
three weeks, and on the return voyage, until the Sunday preceding my
arrival here, when I made trial of my voice, by attempting to conduct
Burmese worship in my cabin, with the only native convert on board.
And though the effort was very small, I was dismayed to find, in the
course of the afternoon, the old soreness of lungs and tendency to
cough come on; and for three days I was rather worse than I had been
for six weeks. Being at sea, however, I partially recovered from the
relapse before I reached home, but am not so well as at my last date.
It is a great mercy that I am able to use my voice in common
conversation without much difficulty; but when I shall be able to
preach again I know not. The approaching rainy season will probably
decide whether my complaint is to return with violence, or whether I
am to have a further lease of life. I am rather desirous of living,
for the sake of the work and of my family; but He who appoints all our
times, and the bounds of our habitation, does all things well; and we
ought not to desire to pass the appointed limits.... My throat
complaint, which seemed to be nearly removed by a voyage to Calcutta,
has returned with fresh violence since the commencement of the rains,
three days ago. Some advise me to take another voyage, as before; but
I have no heart to do so, thinking that the benefit will be but
temporary. Others suggest a voyage home to America, and a residence
there for a year or two; but to this course I have strong objections.
There are so many missionaries going home for their health, or for
some other cause, that I should be very unwilling to do so, unless my
brethren and the Board thought it a case of absolute necessity. I
should be of no use to the cause at home, not being able to use my
voice. And lastly, I am in my fifty-first year. I have lived long
enough. I have lived to see accomplished the particular objects on
which I set my heart when I commenced a missionary life. And why
should I wish to live longer? I am unable to preach; and since the
last relapse, the irritation of my throat is so very troublesome that
I can not converse but with difficulty, or even sit at the table, as I
have done to-day, and prepare copy for the press. My complaint, it is
said, is very much like that of which the late Mrs. Osgood died—not
common pulmonary consumption, but something in the throat, which
puzzled even her attending physicians, one of whom maintained, till
near her death, that she was not in a consumption, and would recover.

“My present expectation is, to use medicinal palliatives, and endeavor
to keep along for a few months, until I see the present edition of the
Bible completed, and then be ready to rest from my labors. But the
very thought brings joy to my soul. For, though I am a poor, poor
sinner, and know that I have never done a single action which can
claim the least merit or praise, glory is before me, interminable
glory, through the blood of the Lamb, the Lamb for sinners slain. But
I shrink back again, when I think of my dear wife and darling
children, who have wound round my once widowed, bereaved heart, and
would fain draw me down from heaven and glory. And then I think, also,
of the world of work before me. But the sufficient answer to all is,
_The Lord will provide_.”

The voyage to which allusion is made in the foregoing extracts was begun February 19, 1839; it was thought that a trip to Calcutta would restore his health. After an absence of nearly two months, during which he had a delightful visit with the English Baptists of Calcutta and Serampore, he returned to Maulmain, his health somewhat improved. The sadness of this separation from the faithful wife and mother, whom he left behind at Maulmain, was intensified by the apprehension that he might die on the voyage. Mrs. Judson writes:

“As soon as you left the house, I ran to your dressing-room, and watched you from the window. But you did not look up—oh, how I wished you would! Then I hastened to the back veranda, and caught one last glimpse of you through the trees; ... and I gave vent to my feelings in a flood of tears.

“Then the children came around me, asking to go to the wharf, and the women _looked_ their wishes; and though I said ‘no’ to the little ones, I could not deny the others. After they were gone, I took all three of our darlings into your own little room, told them why you had gone away, and asked Abby Ann and Adoniram if they wished me to ask God to take care of papa, while he was gone. They said ‘yes’; and so I put Elnathan down on the floor to play, and, kneeling beside the other two, committed you and ourselves to the care of our heavenly Father.... How sweet is the thought that, when you go into the presence of God, you always pray for me, and for our dear children. We have family worship mornings in the sleeping-room. Abby and Pwen[55] kneel, one on each side of me, and after I have read and prayed I teach them the Lord’s prayer. I make them repeat it distinctly, only two or three words at a time. They both sit at the table with me, Pwen occupying his beloved father’s place. But these things do not beguile my loneliness. Oh, when shall I see you again, here, in your old seat?

“Your little daughter and I have been praying for you this evening. She is now in bed, and I am sitting by my study-table, where I spend all my time after evening worship, except what is devoted to the children. I wish, my love, that you would pray for one object in particular—that I may be assisted in communicating divine truth to the minds of these little immortals.... At times the sweet hope that you will soon return, restored to perfect health, buoys up my spirit; but perhaps you will find it necessary to go farther, a necessity from which I can not but shrink with doubt and dread; or you may come back only to die with me. This last agonizing thought crushes me down in overwhelming sorrow. I hope I do not feel unwilling that our heavenly Father should do as He thinks best with us; but my heart shrinks from the prospect of living in this sinful, dark, friendless world without you. But I feel that I do wrong to anticipate sorrows. God has promised strength only for _to-day_; and, in infinite mercy, He shuts the future from our view. I know that there is small ground for hope; few ever recover from your disease; but it may be that God will restore you to health, for the sake of His suffering cause. _I_ do not deserve it; and I have often wondered that I should have been so singularly blessed as to possess that heart, which is far more precious than all the world beside. But the most satisfactory view of our condition is to look away to that blissful world, where separations are unknown. There, my beloved Judson, _we_ shall surely meet each other; and we shall also meet those loved ones who have gone before us to that haven of rest.

“After worship at the chapel, several of the native Christians came in; and we all mingled our tears together. They each in turn committed their absent pastor (father, they called you) to God, and prayed for your restoration to health, and speedy return to us, with a fervor which I felt at the time must prevail.”

VERSES WRITTEN BY MR. JUDSON FOR HIS CHILDREN DURING THIS VOYAGE.

_Prayer to Jesus._

“Dear Jesus, hear me when I pray,
And take this naughty heart away;
Teach me to love Thee, gracious Lord,
And learn to read Thy holy word.”

_Another._

“Come, dearest Saviour, take my heart,
And let me ne’er from Thee depart;
From every evil set me free,
And all the glory be to Thee.”

_For Abby Ann._

“Look down on little brother dear,
Safe may he sleep while Thou art near,
Preserve his life to know Thy love,
And dwell at last in heaven above.”

_A Morning Prayer._

“My waking thoughts I raise to Thee,
Who through the night hast guarded me;
Keep me this day from every ill,
And help me, Lord, to do Thy will.”

_Duty to Others._

“Love others as you love yourself;
And as you would that they
Should do to you, do you to them,
That is the golden way.”

_The Dying Child._

“‘O, grant that Christ and heaven be mine:
What can I want beside?
Hark! hear ye not that voice divine?
“My daughter, Christ and heaven are thine!”
And see! the glorious portals shine!’
She sweetly sang, and died.”

In a letter written to his mother and sister after his return to Maulmain, he betrays the fact that he was still far from perfect convalescence:

“MAULMAIN, _August_ 9, 1839.

“On this day I enter my fifty-second year. Fifty-one years have rolled
over my head, twenty-six of which have been spent in this heathen
land. I believe I write you more frequently than I used to. I am not
so much driven in my studies as formerly, and the weakness and
irritability of my lungs, though much better, do not yet suffer me to
use my voice in public. Add to which that I have a family of young
children growing up around me, so that my mind has become more
domesticated, and returns with more readiness and frequency to the
scenes of my own childhood. Twenty-seven years and a half have passed
since we parted in Plymouth and in Boston, during which time my father
and brother, and his family, and my first family, have all been swept
away by death. You two only remain, and my present family, whom you
have never seen. I sometimes feel concerned for my three little
children, from the fact that I was advanced in life when they were
born, and can not, therefore, expect to live to see them grown up and
happily settled before I shall be removed. Even if my present
complaint should not terminate in consumption, I can hardly expect to
hold out many more years in this climate; so that I have the prospect
of leaving them fatherless in the very bloom of youth, when they will
especially need a father’s support and care. However, I endeavor daily
to commend them to God, and trust that, when I come to die, I shall be
enabled to avail myself of the command and promise, ‘Leave thy
fatherless children; I will preserve them alive; and let thy widows
trust in me’ (Jer. xlix. 11).

“Abby Ann has begun to go to school with Julia Osgood to Mrs. Simons,
who, with her husband, is here from Rangoon, expecting a war with
Burmah, and has set up an English school. Abby attends every forenoon,
and just begins to read words of one syllable. Adoniram says, ‘I want
go school’; but he stays at home, and deports himself like a little
man. Elnathan has been very ill. We thought we should lose him; but he
is now better, and begins to be bright and playful.

“I do wish you could call in and make us a visit. We would try to make
you so comfortable that you would not wish to return to old Plymouth.
However, it is of little consequence where we spend the short remnant
of life. Heaven is before us. Let us pray much, and live devoted to
God, and we shall soon be united in that happy world where there is no
dividing sea.

“Can’t you give me some account of your house, and furniture, and
neighbors, and street, so that I can form a little idea how you are
situated? I have tried to glean some particulars from the Stevenses;
but transient passers can not be expected to give much satisfactory
information. And when you write, leave a good place for the wafer of
your letter, as you see I do; otherwise there are sometimes words
which I can not make out. I shall be glad when any of the little ones
shall be able to conjure out a scrawl to their grandmother and aunt.
Pray for them, that they may be early converted to God. Perhaps mother
will add a line with her own hand when you write. Dear mother, I wish
I could make you some return for all the trouble I once gave you.

Yours ever, A. JUDSON.”

The native Christians at Maulmain were glad enough, after an interval of ten months, to hear again the voice of their beloved teacher, though he still spoke in feeble accents.

Mrs. Judson writes to his mother:

“I have during the past year suffered deep anxiety and gloomy
foreboding on account of my dear husband’s health. But God has been
merciful beyond our fears, and so far restored him that he was able to
preach last Lord’s day, the first time for about ten months. His
discourse was short, and he spoke low. I felt exceedingly anxious
respecting his making the attempt, but he has experienced no ill
effects from it as yet. How pleased you would have been to see the joy
beaming from the countenances of the dear native Christians as they
saw their beloved and revered pastor once more take the desk! He
applies himself very closely to study, though he is still far from
well. He takes cold very easily, and still feels a slight uneasiness
in the chest and left side. But he is so much better than he was, that
I am comforted with the hope that he will soon be entirely restored to
health.”

In a letter to a fellow-missionary he refers playfully to the birth of another son at the close of 1839. “Master Henry[56] came into notice the last day of the year; but there was no earthquake or anything,” and he alludes to the infant Henry in a letter of affectionate counsel to George, who was now twelve years old:

“Your letter of January 9 gave us great pleasure, as it furnished
proof of your proficiency in learning and of affectionate remembrance.
Truly we remember you every day, especially in our prayers. Every
morning we come around the family altar, your mother and myself, your
sister Abby Ann, and your brothers Adoniram and Elnathan—Henry is too
young to attend—and it is our earnest prayer that all our children may
_early_ become partakers of divine grace. I hope you will never
neglect the duty of _secret prayer_. Never let a morning or evening
pass without going into some room or place by yourself, and kneeling
down and spending five or ten minutes at least in praying to God, in
the name of Jesus Christ. Pray earnestly that you may have a new
heart, and become a child of God, and that you may have satisfactory
evidence that such is your happy state.

“You observe in your letter that you are sometimes disturbed by
frightful dreams, and we hear in other ways that your health is rather
delicate. I warmly recommend you to rise every morning between light
and sunrise, and take a quick walk of a mile or more, and to the top
of some hill, if there be one in the vicinity that will suit your
purpose; and in the winter, when you may not be able to walk, get some
equivalent exercise in cutting wood or some other work. This is the
course that, with some intermissions and with various modifications, I
have pursued for thirty-five years; and to this, under God, I ascribe
the good health and the long life I have enjoyed in this unpropitious
climate. Your mother frequently accompanies me over the Maulmain
hills, and she enjoys much better health than she did at Tavoy, where
she took no exercise, scarcely. Do, my dear George, take this matter
into serious consideration. You may not like it at first. You will,
perhaps, feel tired and sleepy for a few days, but when you become a
little used to it, you will enjoy it exceedingly. You will find your
appetite improving, your health becoming firm, and your repose by
night undisturbed. I have now given you the two best pieces of advice
in my power. The first relates to your soul, the second to your body.
Follow them, and be virtuous and happy. I hope to hear that you have
professed religion, and devoted yourself to the ministry. Who knows
but that I shall live to introduce you into missionary work in this
country, where your own father labored, and where his remains are
entombed. Follow your father, my dear George; and we will all, ere
long, be so happy in heaven together, even in the presence of the
dear, lovely, glorious Saviour, the Friend of sinners, who died for
us.”

Mrs. Judson’s health also began to fail. She was attacked by the disease which finally terminated her life at St. Helena. The children, too, were all sick, so that a sea voyage was needed for the very preservation of the family. Mr. Judson reluctantly decided to embark with his wife and four children for Calcutta. The imperative reasons for the voyage he states to the Corresponding Secretary:

“I have been in great distress for several months, and think I have
not written a letter to America, except one to my mother and sister,
since the beginning of the year. Early in March, Mrs. Judson fell into
a decline, and became quite confined to her bed. Three of the children
had been, for some months, ill; and the two eldest were repeatedly at
the point of death. The physicians, missionary brethren, and all my
friends in Maulmain, became clamorous that I should try a voyage, as
the only remaining means of saving the lives of the greater part of my
family. But, extremely reluctant to incur the expense and encounter
the breaking up which a voyage would occasion, I suffered myself to be
beguiled by transient symptoms of convalescence, until, having lost
two opportunities, and seeing most of my family in absolutely
desperate circumstances, I consented to embrace the present
opportunity, and embarked on the 26th ultimo.”

The voyage was short, but boisterous.

“We had been out only four days,” says Mrs. Judson,“ when we struck on
shoals, and for about twenty minutes were expecting to see the large,
beautiful vessel a wreck; and then all on board must perish, or at
best take refuge in a small boat, exposed to the dreary tempests. I
shall never forget my feelings, as I looked over the side of the
vessel that night, on the dark ocean, and fancied ourselves with our
poor sick, and almost dying children, launched on its stormy waves.
The captain tacked as soon as possible, and the tide rising at the
time, we were providentially delivered from our extreme peril.”

When the family arrived at Serampore, just above Calcutta, they hired “a nice, dry house on the very bank of the river.” But though the sea air had naturally revived the invalids, as soon as they came fairly under the hot climate of Bengal they all suffered a relapse. What was to be done? They met at Calcutta a pious Scotch sea captain whose vessel was going to the Isle of France, and from thence to Maulmain. He made the kind proposal to take the whole family on such terms that this circuitous course would cost them no more than to go directly to Maulmain. They dreaded the voyage in the month of August, which is a very dangerous month in the Bay of Bengal, but there seemed to be no other alternative. So Mr. Judson accordingly accepted Captain Hamlin’s kind offer, and decided to set sail for that island, to which he had repaired nearly thirty years before when he had been driven from Bengal by the East India Company. But before leaving Serampore the fond parents were compelled to lay in the grave the form of little Henry, their youngest child. Mr. Judson thus describes this mournful event in a letter to his mother and sister:

“SERAMPORE, _August_ 1, 1841.

“I wrote you on the 24th ultimo. Perhaps this letter will go by the
same conveyance. Wife went down to Calcutta, for a few days, to do a
little business, leaving the two younger children with me. On the 27th
dear little Henry’s disorder took an unfavorable turn. He had derived
less benefit from the voyage and change than the other children, being
too young to have his mind engaged and diverted, which greatly
contributes to bodily recovery; and being considered less dangerously
ill than the others, had, perhaps, less attention paid him than was
desirable. His disorder had continued to hold on, though at times
greatly mitigated. On the 28th he grew worse, and I wrote down for his
mother, and in the evening began to despair of his life. On the 29th
the doctor gave him up; and my only prayer was, that he might not die
before his mother arrived. Oh, what heavy hours now passed! She
arrived with the other children in the night, about two o’clock, and
sprang to the cradle of the little sufferer, and could not think that
he was really in a dying state. I let her take her own way, and she
contrived to give him a little wine and water, which, however, could
be of no avail; and when morning came, the marks of death on the
countenance were too visible for even the unwilling mother to refuse
to acknowledge. We spent the day hanging over our dying babe, and
giving him some liquid, for which he was always calling, to relieve
his burning thirst. When I said, ‘Henry, my son,’ he would raise his
sinking eyelids, and try to stretch out his little arms for me to take
him; but he could not bear to be held more than a moment before he
would cry to be laid down again. Oh, how restless did he spend his
last day, rolling from side to side, and crying out, ‘_Nahnee_,’ his
imperfect pronunciation of _naughty_, by which term he was in the
habit of expressing his disapprobation or dissatisfaction. In the
afternoon he became convulsed for a few moments, and our hearts were
rent to witness the distortion of his dear little mouth and face.
After that he was more quiet; but toward evening he probably had some
violent stroke of death, for he suddenly screamed out in great pain.
In the evening he had another turn of convulsion. His mother lay down
by his side, and, worn out with fatigue, fell fast asleep. About nine
o’clock I had gone into another room, and was lying down, when a
servant called me. He began to breathe loud, indicative of the closing
scene. I let the mother sleep—sat down by his side, and presently
called, as usual, ‘Henry, my son’; upon which he opened his eyes, and
looked at me more intelligently and affectionately than he had been
able to do for some time; but the effort was too great, and he ceased
to breathe. I instantly awoke his mother; he then gave two or three
expiring gasps, and it was all over. I stripped the little emaciated
body, and washed it, while his mother, with the help of a servant,
made a suitable gown; and by eleven o’clock he was laid out in the
same cradle in which he died. For a few days Elnathan had been ill
with a severe cough and fever, and my attention had been divided
between the two. After poor Henry was quiet, we turned all our
attention to the others. The two elder children were much better. Next
morning we had a coffin made, in which we placed our dear child; and
sometimes, when other avocations permitted, looked at him through the
day. And oh, how sweet was his dead face! though there was an
expression of pain lurking in some of the features. At night a few of
our friends came together, and we carried the coffin to the mission
burial-ground, where, after a prayer by Mr. Mack, the body was
deposited in its final resting-place. Farewell, my darling son Henry.
While thy little body rests in the grave, I trust that thy spirit,
through the grace of Jesus Christ, is resting in Paradise. We intend
to order a small monument erected with this inscription: ‘The grave of
Henry Judson, youngest son of the Rev. A. Judson, of Maulmain, who
died July 30, 1841, aged one year and seven months.’

“Elnathan was very ill last night, and is not much better to-day. We
tremble for him. The vessel in which we are going to the Isle of
France, we hear, is to remain a few days longer, so that I will add a
further line before leaving.

“CALCUTTA, _August 6_. We have come down to this place with a view to
embarking; but the vessel is still detained. Elnathan appears to be
very ill, with a complication of complaints. We are in great distress
about him. The two elder children continue better.

“In haste, yours affectionately,
A. JUDSON.

“_August 13._ We are still waiting the moving of the vessel, but shall
positively go on board the 16th. Elnathan is much better, so that we
hope the danger of losing him is past. The other children continue to
improve. Farewell for the present.

“P. S.—I enclose a small lock of poor dear Henry’s hair. We are very
sad whenever we think of that bright, sweet boy. It was the will of
God that he should be taken from us; so we must be resigned, and I
hope that he is now waiting to welcome us to the Paradise where, we
trust, he has safely arrived. Two vessels have just come in from
America, but we have got nothing from you. Perhaps there may be a
letter or some box which will be forwarded to Maulmain.”

Bidding farewell to the newly-made grave, Mr. and Mrs. Judson, with their sick children, embarked on board the _Ramsay_, Captain Hamlin. The voyage to the Isle of France occupied about six weeks, and as the monsoon was drawing to a close, the storms were very frequent, sudden and severe. Mr. Judson writes under date of August 22, 1841:

“DEAR MRS. H.: We are on board the _Ramsay_, pitching most fearfully.
We have been lying several days waiting for the weather, and have now
got up anchor, so that I am writing a line or two to send back by the
pilot.”

And Mrs. Judson thus records their experience:

“Could you now look on our dismasted vessel you would indeed say, she
is a ‘ship in distress.’ For the last three days we have had the most
frightful squalls I ever experienced; and yesterday two top-masts, a
top-gallant mast, and the jib-boom, with all their sails, were torn
away, causing a tremendous crash. For the last two nights I have not
closed my eyes to sleep, and I find it quite impossible to sleep now.
I have, therefore, taken my pen, though the vessel rolls so that I
fear my writing will be quite illegible. Do not infer from anything I
have said that I am suffering from terror; my wakefulness has been
occasioned only by bodily discomfort, arising from the violent tossing
of the vessel. I thank God that I feel perfectly calm and resigned;
and I can leave myself and my dear family in His hands, with a feeling
of perfect peace and composure.”

But this voyage, severe as it was, proved very beneficial to the invalids, and, after spending a month in Port Louis, they returned to Maulmain, where they arrived on December 10, in greatly improved health.

Captain Hamlin declined to receive any compensation for the passage from Calcutta to Maulmain _via_ the Isle of France, although a fair charge for the double voyage would have been two thousand rupees, or about one thousand dollars. The four hundred rupees which Mr. Judson sent him, merely as an expression of his gratitude, were returned, the noble sailor saying that he considered it a privilege to have been able to show some kindness to the servants of Christ. Mr. Judson wrote at once to the Board, suggesting that they should send to the captain a formal letter of thanks, together with a present, “say of a set of the ‘Comprehensive Commentary,’” to be addressed to Captain Thomas Hamlin, Jr., Greenock, Scotland. The following interesting incidents relating to this voyage found their way into a pamphlet, compiled by “John Simpson, Minister of the Gospel, Greenock”:

“After remaining about four weeks in Bombay, the _Ramsay_ sailed for
Maulmain, in Burmah, and from thence to Calcutta. During these
passages some favorable impressions seemed to have been produced in
the minds of the crew; and on their arrival at Calcutta they conducted
themselves with greater propriety than at any of the former ports;
here they regularly attended the floating chapel. Whilst the ship was
at Calcutta, the captain paid a visit to the Baptist missionary
establishment at Serampore. There he fell in with the indefatigable
missionary, Dr. Judson, from Burmah, who was at Serampore with his
family for the improvement of their health. As the _Ramsay_ was
shortly to sail for the Island of Mauritius, and from thence to
Maulmain—Dr. Judson’s residence—Captain Hamlin kindly offered them a
passage, in the hope that it would be conducive to the object they had
in view. Having accepted the offer thus generously made to him and his
family, Dr. Judson felt a strong desire to be useful to the seamen, in
whose dangers he was about to share. He made it a matter of prayer to
God that he might be instrumental in turning some of them from the
error of their ways; and, before going on board, expressed a
conviction that God Had heard him, and that He would answer him in
communicating His grace to some, if not to all, of the crew. After
putting to sea, worship was conducted by Dr. Judson and the captain
alternately; but on the Sabbaths the whole of the services were
conducted by the doctor. Possessing all his mental vigor, and his
ardent love for souls having suffered no abatement, he availed himself
of these opportunities, in addition to private instruction, to promote
the great end he had in view, and for which he had so earnestly
prayed, previously to his embarking on board the _Ramsay_. His manner
of address was of the most touching description, and seldom failed in
making the big tear roll down the weather-beaten cheeks of his hardy
auditors. It soon became apparent that he was not laboring in vain,
nor spending his strength for nought. Before their arrival at the
Mauritius, three of the seamen gave pleasing evidence of being
converted to God. During their stay at the Mauritius, public worship
was held on board every Sabbath, and was well attended, both by seamen
and landsmen. Religion was in a languid state amongst the inhabitants
generally. There were, however, a few who seemed concerned for the
advancement of Christ’s kingdom, and by them it had been in
contemplation to fit up a seaman’s chapel. They had even gone so far
as to make application to the late benevolent governor, Sir Lionel
Smith, for the use of an old ship lying there, belonging to
Government; the application had been favorably received; still nothing
had been done toward effecting the object they had in view, till the
captain of the _Ramsay_, hearing how matters stood, set about raising
subscriptions toward fitting up the said vessel as a Bethel; he
likewise presented another memorial to the governor, but was obliged
to leave at this time, without seeing the work accomplished.

“Leaving the Island of Mauritius, their next port of destination was
Maulmain, in Burmah. On the passage, the usual religious services were
attended to; and, in addition to the ordinary meetings, an extra one,
for prayer and exhortation, was held every Wednesday evening, and
conducted by the seamen who had professed the name of Christ. This
meeting was the means of effecting much good. Amongst other things
which came before their minds was the subject of baptism. By a
diligent perusal of the word of God, and the instructions of Dr.
Judson, the new converts were convinced that baptism by immersion was
the Scriptural mode, and that it was their duty, as believers in
Christ, to be baptized in His name. Hence they determined, with the
captain—who had doubts regarding the truth of infant baptism, before
his leaving home—to be baptized on the first convenient opportunity
after reaching Maulmain. Accordingly, on the first Sabbath after their
arrival, the captain, mate, and two of the seamen, together with a
Burmese female, were ‘buried with Christ by baptism,’ in presence of a
large assemblage of natives and others, who appeared to take a deep
interest in all the solemn services that were attended to. The
ordinance was administered by Dr. Judson.

“At Maulmain there are two Baptist churches—one for the natives, which
is supplied by Dr. Judson; the other for Europeans, etc., which is
supplied by assistant missionaries. Both churches were in a
flourishing condition. The missionary work was being zealously
prosecuted, and many of the heathen were renouncing their idols and
embracing the Saviour. The labors of the missionaries had been
eminently successful among the Karen tribe. Whilst at Maulmain, the
captain and mate paid a visit to one of the villages of these
interesting people. On their arrival they found the chief—who acts
also as their spiritual teacher—with nearly the whole of the
villagers, busily engaged in their rice-fields. On the _gong_ being
sounded, which was the signal for the arrival of the missionaries,
they flocked into the native chapel; and, after greeting
affectionately their teachers, they turned to the captain and mate,
and asked their chief, ‘Do these men love Christ?’ Being answered in
the affirmative, they received them with much cordiality, and, on
their departure, loaded their boat with fruit, etc., etc.

“The _Ramsay_ remained at Maulmain eight weeks, during which time the
intercourse of the crew with the Christians on shore was of the most
pleasing description. The evening before they sailed from this place,
Dr. Judson delivered a farewell address on board the _Ramsay_, which
produced a deep and solemn impression. All were melted into tears, as
was the case with Dr. Judson himself. He alluded to the providential
manner in which he had been brought amongst them, the many happy and
profitable hours he had spent in their society, the converting grace
of God which they had all been privileged to witness, and some to
experience; and those who professed the faith he exhorted ‘that with
purpose of heart they would cleave unto the Lord’; and those who had
still held out against the entreaties of melting mercy he besought to
be reconciled to God. After engaging in solemn prayer for all on
board, and giving them his parting blessing, he retired, whilst, like
Paul’s Christian brethren at Ephesus, ‘they sorrowed most of all for
the words which he spake, that they should see his face no more.’”

Soon after Mr. and Mrs. Judson and their three children returned to Maulmain, Henry Hall Judson[57] was born July 8, 1842. He was named after the little boy whom they had left in his lonely grave at Serampore.

About this time Mr. Judson heard of the death of his venerable mother, who departed this life at Plymouth, Mass., in the eighty-third year of her age. His father and brother Elnathan had died before; and his sister Abigail was now left alone at Plymouth.

And now there was pressed upon Mr. Judson a great task, and one from which he had long shrank. The Board at home urgently desired him to undertake the compilation of a Burman dictionary. His heart longed to be engaged in direct individual work, winning souls to Christ. He had no relish for the seclusion which the work of translation required. Years before, he had written:

“In regard to a dictionary, I do not see how I can possibly undertake
it. And if you consider my situation a moment, you will, I am
persuaded, be of my opinion.... Must this population of twenty
thousand be left to perish without any effort to save them, except
what is made by a few very inefficient native assistants? Ought there
not to be a preaching missionary in this great, growing place?”

But no one else seemed qualified for this task, and the failure of his voice imperatively forbade his preaching. And so, with the utmost reluctance, he turned toward a work which was to occupy a large part of his time during the rest of his life. Under date of April 17, 1843, he writes, “I am chiefly occupied in the Burman dictionary, at the repeated suggestion of the Board,” and he addressed the following letter to the Corresponding Secretary:

“MAULMAIN, _July_ 13, 1843.

“I never think without some uneasiness of the infrequency of my
communications to the Board; and if I had not an apology at hand, I
should feel self-condemned. A person employed in direct missionary
work among the natives, especially if his employ is somewhat
itinerant, can easily make long and interesting journals. The first
epithet, at least, may be applied to some of my earlier
communications. But it has been my lot, for many years past, to spend
most of my time over the study-table; and my itinerating has scarcely
extended beyond the limits of my morning walks and the precincts of
the mission inclosure. Several years were spent in translating the
Bible, and several more in revising it and carrying the last edition
through the press. After which, in May last year, I commenced a
dictionary of the language, a work which I had resolved and
re-resolved never to touch. But it is not in man that walketh to
direct his steps. The Board and my brethren repeatedly urged me to
prepare a dictionary, the one printed in 1826 being exceedingly
imperfect; and as Burmah continued shut against our labors, and there
were several missionaries in this place, I concluded that I could not
do better than to comply.

“We are apt to magnify the importance of any undertaking in which we
are warmly engaged. Perhaps it is from the influence of that
principle, that, notwithstanding my long-cherished aversion to the
work, I have come to think it very important; and that, having seen
the accomplishment of two objects on which I had set my heart when I
first came out to the East, the establishment of a church of converted
natives and the translation of the Bible into their language, I now
beguile my daily toil with the prospect of compassing a third, which
may be compared to a causeway, designed to facilitate the transmission
of all knowledge, religious and scientific, from one people to the
other.

“It was my first intention to make a single work, Burmese and English;
but as I proceeded, I discovered many reasons for constructing a
double work, in two parts, the first English and Burmese, the second
Burmese and English. I hope, by daily, uninterrupted labor, to have
the whole ready for the press by the end of 1845. Not, indeed, that I
count on living so long. Above thirty years spent in a tropical
climate—to-day is the twenty-ninth anniversary of my arrival in
Burmah—leaves but little ground to build future plans upon. But I feel
it my duty to plod on, while daylight shall last, looking out for the
night, and ready to bequeath both the plodding and the profit to any
brother who shall be willing to carry on and complete the work when I
shall have obtained my discharge.”

-----

Footnote 46:

Forbes, in his “British Burmah.”

Footnote 47:

Mrs. Webb.

Footnote 48:

The reader is referred to Mrs. E. C. Judson’s charming memoir of Mrs.
Sarah B. Judson.

Footnote 49:

George Dana Boardman, D.D., Pastor of the First Baptist Church,
Philadelphia.

Footnote 50:

See page 110.

Footnote 51:

Burman tracts.

Footnote 52:

See page 405.

Footnote 53:

Now the principal of a ladies’ school in Minneapolis.

Footnote 54:

Now a physician in New York City.

Footnote 55:

Pwen, a flower. A name given to Adoniram by the natives.

Footnote 56:

The child died shortly afterward at Serampore.

Footnote 57:

At present living in Plymouth, Mass.